


Fate and Perfume

by Anonymous



Category: Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-03
Updated: 2012-09-03
Packaged: 2017-11-13 11:18:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vince Noir is the most famous male model in the world. Howard Moon is a struggling poet. They meet when Vince runs away from a red carpet event and into Howard's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on an advert for Chanel No. 5 that features Nichole Kidman as the model and Rodrigo Santoro as the man whose taxi she runs into. I'll get this out of the way, prepare yourself for some extremely overblown prose. People fall in love at first sight and know each other better than anyone else ever has etc. etc. In my own defence, this is based on an ad for perfume.

The bright flashes of light blinded him and left brightly coloured after-images tattooed against his retinas. He used to live for this: the adoration of strangers who all wanted a piece of him; the crowds clustering around him for a photograph, a signature, a smile, but now it frightened him looking at those slavering creatures with cameras screaming his name and feelings of claustrophobia and helplessness pressed in on him. He needed to escape. 

He ran.

The crowd saw his flight and roared in disbelief and anger. His long feathered cape swept and fluttered behind him in the wind, and for a moment he was a songbird fleeing its gilded cage. He threw open the door of the nearest taxi, scooped up his trailing creation of haute couture in one arm and leaped inside.

"Drive!" he said breathlessly and turned to see the face of the man that would change his life forever, though he had no way of knowing that yet.

In a bizarre way though, he did know from that first moment when he locked eyes with the haphazardly dressed man in the cab who was staring at him in bewilderment. For a split second time stood still and he could feel his heart beating in his throat and the surprised intake of breath from the other man.

Neither of them said anything for what could have been seconds or decades. The stranger broke the silence first.

"Who are you?" he asked in astonishment.

"I'm yours," Vince replied and, as he said it, he knew it was true.

He didn't believe in love at first sight. Too many strangers had claimed to love him upon seeing him for him to believe in it. Those people loved his image, his quirky sense of humour in interviews, his androgynous beauty. They didn't know him, he existed only as a 3D representation of a picture in a glossy magazine to these people.

A concatenation of a dream, an angel, a sprite and a thousand memorised video clips and photos and quotes.

How could they love him? They thought they knew him already and, so, they didn't want him to do anything to shatter the illusion. How many times had he played the game? Taken a beautiful young person, who was almost as pretty as him, and played the role of the person that they thought he was for them for a night, slipping away before they woke the next morning, leaving no trace that he'd ever been there.

Not like this. His mouth was dry and the adrenaline rush of his escape was still thundering through his body. He could have gotten into anyone's cab; some spoiled teenagers on a shopping holiday, a Jewish grandmother, a drunken college student. New York had all of these and more in spades, but it had been this cab, this man, at this moment, and he didn't think that there could be any other explanation than fate.

The man in the cab was nothing like the kind of people he would usually deign to sleep with; svelte, feminine party goers of indiscriminate gender with skinny hips and shiny hair, plucked from the teaming masses of admirers. They all clamoured to get invited to an event that he was rumoured to be appearing at, praying that they would be chosen.

_"Vince Noir, is there any chance of a romance of the horizon? You were seen with actress Judy Monroe earlier this month, what is the truth behind the rumours that the two of you have been meeting secretly?"_

_"Oh dear... this is why I shouldn't sleep with famous people. You charming journalistic types have us halfway to the alter by the time the knickers hit the floor."_

_"So, you're still not ready to settle down?"_

_"Barring a complete brain transplant, I'll never be ready to 'settle down'. Why would I, when there are still so many deserving young persons waiting patiently for their turn?"_

This man was nothing like that. He was dishevelled, in a way that suggested actual dishevelment rather than several hours spent carefully rumpling hair and selecting an outfit that looked like it was thrown together carelessly at the last minute. He was clutching a small hardback notebook one of his large squarish hands.

Everything about him was masculine and hinted at a quietly reserved strength. His brown eyes were small and close set, but they were the warmest and kindest eyes Vince had ever seen. He was handsome in a more homespun and traditional way than was fashionable at the moment. He was the most beautiful thing in the whole world.

*

He shouldn't have been taking a cab, not when he'd just learnt how badly his latest book of poetry was selling. For the next few months he would have to live on the barest of essentials and the occasional left over dinners that the woman next door would give him now and then. She was a single mother whose husband had been one of the firefighters killed in the attacks on the World Trade Centre.

He felt guilty accepting food from her when she was working three minimum wage jobs to feed her two children and he was just a poncey artiste who refused to pack it in and get a real job. She would insist and press the plates into his hands. He couldn't bring himself to refuse her generosity.

There was some kind of media circus going on outside his window. A premier, or a fashion show, or any one of the million star-studded events that infested this city. The main focus of the photographers' attention was a ridiculously beautiful man who was trying to get to the door unharassed with little luck. Howard almost pitied him, which was absurd because he was going to be eating canned food every meal for the next month, what place had he to pity some poor little rich boy?

Suddenly, the strange fashionista turned and ran away from the crowd onto the New York streets. Straight towards his cab. The door flew open and the vision deposited himself onto the seat next to Howard and called to the cab driver urgently. Howard stared at this unearthly beauty who had flung himself into his life. The man stared back at him with wide blue eyes.

"Who are you?" he asked him in wonderment.

"I'm yours," was the reply the apparition breathlessly gave him.

After that there was no going back. He'd tumbled helplessly past the point of no return in a whirlwind of pale feathers and perfume.

He didn't understand the concept of "fate" or "destiny" or any of that crap, or the appeal of it, for that matter. Why did so many people want to be the helpless pawn of some cosmic chess game they had no control over? How could they take comfort from the notion that everything they did was inevitable? He was terrified by such an idea. He'd worked so hard all his life to be a writer, but if it wasn't his "fate" to be successful, nothing would ever come of it? 

Why then, did it feel like his whole life had been leading up to this one moment? Sitting across from an escaped beauty wearing half a herd of ostriches in a cab with suspicious stains on the seat cushions.

Years of disappointment and failures, a move across the ocean to a new continent, new failures, new disappointments where the sum total of his life's work was a shabby apartment whose only redeeming feature was an unparalleled view from the roof, and a body of work that less than twenty people had read. But without all that, he wouldn't be here right now. If he hadn't gone to America, if he hadn't taken a cab, if the driver hadn't taken that long circuitous route....

The man was too beautiful to be real. Real people didn't look like that. He was afraid that if he blinked or looked away, he would disappear, leaving behind only the smell of his perfume.

Howard reached out to touch him on his cheek, to confirm he was a flesh and blood creature and not a faery out for a night on the town. The cheek was warm and soft, and he leant into Howard's gentle caress. He let his fingers brush down to cup the man's neck and push him gently forward. Their lips met softly at first, and then with growing urgency.

He didn't do things like this. Kissing strangers whose last names he didn't know was something that happened to other people. He didn't even know this man's first name. It would take him weeks before he was even comfortable enough with someone to allow them to touch him.

His last boyfriend had known him for eight months before they'd held hands, and Jessica, who'd come before him, had been his friend for two years before they'd started going out. The thought of some stranger's lips on his should disgust him and make him want to scrub his mouth out with soap and water, but instead it was perfect.


	2. Chapter 2

He kissed him. It was very different to the kisses he had become used to receiving. For one thing, Vince hadn't been the one to initiate it. He was very particular about who he permitted to kiss him and no one kissed him before he kissed them first, not without security escorting them from the premises. As well as that, Vince couldn't remember the last time he'd kissed someone when he was sober, or the last time he'd kissed someone and meant it. He already felt closer to the man in the cab than anyone else he'd ever kissed. It didn't feel like kissing a stranger.

"My name's Howard," the man, Howard, Vince corrected himself, said when they broke apart for air.

Vince touched the end of his nose with an index finger.

"Howard," he repeated, savouring the taste of the name in his mouth, "Thank you for rescuing me."

He smiled and kissed Howard's cheek sweetly.

"I didn't do anything," Howard protested softly, before Vince pressed his finger to his lips and shushed him gently.

"Before I saw you I was drowning. You rescued me," he said simply and pulled Howard close for another kiss.

He didn't know exactly what the protocol was was when you met the love of your life. He hadn't had a normal relationship in seven years, but he vaguely remembered talking softly in corners of nightclubs. This had been back before he'd given up talking to the people he got off with. These days he would just pick someone out of a crowd, kiss them for a few hours, before bringing them to a hotel room and letting them make him come.

He didn't want that with Howard. Well, obviously he wanted to sleep with him, but he wanted a thousand conversations, he wanted to memorise every last detail of his face until he could draw it in his sleep, he wanted to make Howard come first.

The taxi pulled up and Howard handed a much folded note to the driver who passed him back his change mutely. Howard pulled him out of the cab gently by the hand and led him towards a dilapidated building shyly. Vince found his bashfulness utterly charming.

He became uncomfortably aware that his outfit, no matter how fabulous, was not very practical for running away in. If only he'd known a few hours ago that he was going to be whisked away on a whirlwind adventure, he would have dressed for the occasion. Maybe a little red number with a hood, like Red Riding Hood. Or was she the one who ran away again? Maybe it was Hansel and Gretl he was thinking of. Anyway it would have been genius. His fingers itched for colouring pencils to draw it. Howard's arm looped around his waist tightly and he forgot about clothes.

Once in the lift they kissed again. It smelt of damp and there was what looked suspiciously like a used johnny in the corner. He couldn't have cared less.

The doors chimed and slid open and they walked backwards and Howard pressed him against a door.

"Do you have anything I can wear?" Vince asked as he leant back, exposing his throat.

Howard stopped kissing him and looked him over in surprise.

"Yes, yeah of course," he said and started patting his pockets for his keys.

They walked into the tiny apartment with their hands never quite leaving each other.

"I don't come home much, except to sleep," Howard apologized softly.

Vince shook his head.

"I just want to be with you, I don't care where we are," he replied, touching Howard's unshaven cheek in a mirror of the moment before they kissed in the cab.

Howard lifted one side of his mouth in a crooked smile and caught the hand and brought it to his lips.

"Stay here and I'll find something for you," he said, dropping the hand and going into the next room.

Vince went over to the window and looked out. They were right on the top floor ; you could climb out the window and take the fire escape to the roof. He felt Howard's warm arms lace around him and he turned to look at his face. Howard looked back at him and pushed the hair out of his eyes gently.

"Can we go on the roof? Please?" he asked excitedly and he turned around so that their chests were touching.

"Ok," Howard said and reached past him to open the window.

He let Vince clamber out first and then followed him.

*

Feeling vaguely embarrassed about not having tidied in so long, Howard led the feather bedecked stranger into his house. It was all very well whisking someone away like a Romantic hero (or a Mills and Boon hero at the very least) but there was the all too real possibility that the passion would fade once the dirty, holey socks behind the sofa were discovered, or the small mountain of food encrusted dishes in the kitchen.

He slipped away to his bedroom to find something for the other man to wear. It killed the mood somewhat, but he could see the logic behind the thinking. Dear god, did he have anything clean, let alone something that would fit the much smaller man in the sitting room. He should really find out what his name was.

Eventually he found, at the back of his wardrobe, a suit that he'd had for ten years, and hadn't worn in almost that long. It was the closet he was going to get to something appropriate. It smelled faintly of mothballs. He grabbed a clean shirt to go with it and walked back out to the living room.

On the roof they had looked out and he'd sighed in contentment into Howard's shoulder, which made his stomach fill with butterflies. It felt like a combination between all the excitement of a new relationship and all the easy companionship of a long term one.

"It's so peaceful up here," he smiled up at him.

Howard remembered the clothes and held out a neat bundle to his "guest" and stroked one of the feathers on him flamboyant outfit.

"It might be too big for you," he said when the other man took the clothes gratefully.

He skipped over to a washing line and hung his cape over it as a makeshift screen and the sounds of him disrobing drifted across.

"Bloody hell, you've got long legs," the disembodied voice reached him, "What does a man have to do for you to get your Northern pins out?"

Howard smiled fondly. It was nice having his accent identified more accurately than 'Oh my goodness you're English!'

"You can roll the ends up," he called back, "Listen, what's your name?"

A shiny mop of hair, followed by a smirking face, appeared at the edge of the cape.

"Do you really not know me?" he asked delightedly.

"Unless I'm supposed to break out in song and say that I met you once upon a dream, I'm a bit lost here to be honest," Howard replied. The head ducked back behind the makeshift screen.

"Vince," the voice said shyly.

"Vince... who are you?" he repeated his question from the cab.

Vince pushed back the cape, revealing himself dressed in Howard's old suit, and smiled widely.

"I'm a dancer!" he proclaimed, pulling a shape, "I love to dance!"

He danced and laughed and Howard caught his hand and spun him into his chest again, before dipping him and kissing him. Howard felt Vince shivering in his arms and held him closer.

"Stay with me," he whispered into his ear.

Vince looked at him like he was stupid.

"Why would I leave?"


	3. Chapter 3

It was inevitable that they would sleep together. Howard had murmured softly about futons and spare pyjamas in between kisses, but they both knew that however the evening played out, it would not involve Vince tucked up in the futon by himself. They made their way back inside the apartment managing not to fall off the roof, but only just.

"Show me your bedroom," Vince asked, nibbling along Howard's collarbone.

Howard repressed a groan and manoeuvred him through the door. They somehow managed to undress each other without ever breaking their tight embrace and fell backwards onto Howard's lumpy single bed. Vince kissed his chest and stroked his arm with feather light touches of his fingertips.

"I found you," he whispered into the crook of Howard's neck and kissed the pulsing jugular softly, with a hint of teeth.

It wasn't like the awkward scrabble of clothes and muffled curses that sex usually was for Howard. Vince wasn't like any of the, admittedly few, people he'd brought back to his tiny bedroom after several weeks of stop and start courtship. He was bright and beautiful, like a dying star. Their lips found each other in the darkness after blindly kissing cheekbones and noses. He placed his hand on a rounded hip and stroked downwards.

"Want, want you inside me," Vince gasped.

Howard nodded and kissed him before getting out of the bed to rummage in his bedside locker. When he returned with a prehistoric tube of astroglide, Vince was shivering slightly.

"I haven't got a condom," he said, "We can do something else."

"No... I trust you. And I'm clean too," Vince said quietly.

He felt some apprehension at the prospect of unprotected sex, this was yet another thing that he Did Not Do, but he was doing an awful lot of those things tonight, so why not just throw caution to the wind at this point?

Vince was biting his lip and he was looking away in embarrassment. Howard turned his face towards him with his thumb and forefinger and kissed him several times, before Vince began to kiss him back again.

"Have you never done this?" he asked.

"Yeah, but not from this position," Vince admitted.

"Oh," Howard said, "I don't mind if you would rather-"

Vince shook his head.

"I want it to be you," he said and Howard felt his chest tighten and his stomach drop out of him.

"Sure?" he asked.

Vince kissed him again and felt between them for his erection. Howard felt a small part of his soul fall away at the first touch of those long fingers.

"I want you to put it in me," Vince said with his hand stroking firmly along the shaft.

Howard unscrewed the top of the lube and squeezed a generous amount into his hand, thinking it was better to err on the side of caution if Vince wasn't used to being on the bottom. He rubbed it over his fingers and felt between Vince's buttocks and inserted one finger up to the second knuckle, wiggling it slightly. He studied Vince's reactions to each tiny movement closely and after a while eased a second finger inside him.

Vince gasped and gritted his teeth against the sharp pain. Howard poured more lubricant onto his fingers and moved his fingers slowly and carefully.

"Ok, I'm going to do it now," Howard said, taking his fingers out gently. "Are you still sure you want to do it this way?” 

Vince nodded and his eyes widened as he felt Howard nudging at his entrance. Howard entered him slowly, allowing them both to adjust. He began to slowly move in and out of the wet heat, not wanting to hurt him, until Vince started to move his hips with him. The expression on Vince's face changed from tense to euphoric and he wrapped his legs around Howard's waist, holding him closer.

"Touch me!" 

Howard reverently put his hand on Vince's chest and trailed it downwards slowly, before his fingers were just brushing to base of the other man's cock. Vince made an urgent keening noise and he wrapped his fingers around it and began to pump him in time with their rocking hips.

"I love you."

No one was more surprised than him to hear him say those words. Vince threw his head back and came into his hand, and he followed not long afterwards. As they lay in a panting sticky heap, Vince stroked his hair and leant to whisper in his ear.

"I love you."

*

They were kissing again, more desperately than before.

"I have a futon," Howard was saying against his lips, before Vince captured them again, "You can wear a pair of my pyjamas until we get you something."

Vince allowed him this fiction of giving him the futon for the moment and kissed him again, clinging to him tightly. They stumbled down the fire escape clumsily and half fell through the open window. While Howard turned and closed it behind him, Vince went behind him and put his hands up his shirt, rubbing the chest and stomach with his cold hands. Howard shivered and turned to kiss his mouth again. Vince started unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt and licked a wet line across Howard's chest and nipped at it gently with his teeth.

"Show me your bedroom," he said, looking up at Howard with half lidded eyes.

There was no ambiguity in that statement, no possibility of misunderstanding. Howard towed him through a door and they began to shed their clothes rapidly. Within less than a minute, they were completely naked and eagerly writhing together on the bed. He anointed Howard's broad chest with kisses and trailed his fingers along the firm bicep. He knew that he belonged here, in these strong arms, for the rest of his life. All the one night stands and meaningless parties were nothing compared to this. He had never been so sure of anything in his life. After all the drunken searching for release in the arms of a stranger, he finally found-

"I found you," he whispered aloud against Howard neck.

He felt a pair of lips against his cheek and then the bridge of his nose. He kissed what felt like a jawline and then the inside corner of Howard's mouth. Their lips reached each other and they kissed with wet smacking sounds filling the darkness.  
Vince felt a hard cock digging into his thigh and he thought about that for a few seconds. In these situations he was used to either letting the other bloke suck him off, or being on top. He had never wanted to be that intimate with any of the pretty little things that he'd brought back with him in the past. But now....

He felt Howard's hand on his hip, moving downwards steadily and before he could process what he was going to say he found the words flying out of him. Howard looked at him in mild surprise, before nodding shortly and kissing his lips. He left the bed, to go and look for the essentials presumably, and Vince felt a sudden gust of air fill the Howard shaped vacuum. He tried unsuccessfully to repress a shiver. Howard returned with a small tube of lubricant in his hand and gently rubbed Vince's goosepimply skin with his other hand.

He was nervous, having never done it like this before, but he was sure that he wanted to now. He ignored the out that Howard gave him, no matter how tempting it was to take up the role he was more used to, or to do something less- well just less. He reached down between them to grasp the hot cock pressing into his hipbone and stroked it.

"I want you to put it in me," he said and something clicked behind Howard's eyes.

The first finger started to worm its way inside him and he began to get that feeling that you get when the rollercoaster has just started to move and you know that it's too late to change your mind. When the second finger joined it, he thought that he was going to break down there, but at the same time there was pleasure there just at the edge of the pain.

Howard announced that he was going to do it and he forced himself to relax enough to accommodate that large cock in his body. It slid into him agonizingly slowly and... it was like nothing else. He felt so full. They started to move together and find a rhythm and the pain started to ebb away. Howard hit something inside him and he saw stars burst and ricochet around his skull. Desperate for him to hit that spot again, he clamped his legs around Howard and pulled him as close as he could. It was so good and he was so close it was hurting him. At his squealed request, Howard took his leaking cock and started to jerk him off in time to their lovemaking (which is what it was, he realised with a jolt).

"I love you," Howard said, looking surprised to hear himself say it.

That combined with the hand on his cock, his own epiphany and Howard's cock repeatedly hitting that spot inside him was too much. He came with a shocked little gasp and a sense of regret that he hadn't made Howard come first. Oh well, he thought, there was always next time. Because at this stage he had no doubt that there would be a next time.

He felt Howard come inside him just before he fell on top of him in sated exhaustion. Vince reached out and stroked his hair gently and leant down to his ear.

"I love you."


	4. Chapter 4

Howard woke up in the middle of the night to an empty bed. His first thought was that the strange man he'd absconded with had been a dream. His second thought was that Vince had left after he had gone to sleep. Neither of these were correct. He heard some noise coming from the kitchen and padded down the hall barefoot.

Vince was standing by his sink, sudsy up to the elbows, next to a neat stack of newly washed dishes. He had gotten through most of the backlog that Howard had built up over the past few weeks and was currently scrubbing a large casserole dish that he'd forgotten he'd owned. Vince looked over his shoulder and smiled sleepily.

"Couldn't get to sleep," he said, pushing his fringe out of his face, "I hope you don't mind... I just wanted to do something for you." He indicated the dishes with a vague gesture.

"You didn't have to," Howard brushed a small clump of bubbles off his hair.

"No, but I wanted to," Vince shrugged.

"Mother always did say I needed a nice little domestic type to look after me," Howard grinned wryly and kissed Vince lightly on the lips.

"Do you want to watch the telly or something?" he said, reaching for the tea towel to dry Vince's wet hands.

"That'd be nice," Vince said quietly and took Howard's hand.

They walked down to the front room and Howard tucked Vince up on the couch with a moth eaten blanket and switched on the television.

_"-disappearance of Vince Noir, voted sexiest male supermodel of 2008-"_

Howard switched channels hastily.

_"-rumours that the pressure is too much for the London born model, Noir vanished earlier-"_

He turned off the TV and turned to look at Vince.

"Maybe a DVD would be better," he said and wrapped an arm around the skinny man on his sofa.

"That's not me," Vince said hurriedly, "they think it's me, but it's not!"

His cheeks were flushed and he was biting his lower lip. Howard hugged him tightly.

"I know, I know," he said.

"Please don't listen to them. I don't want you to think that I'm like they say I am," Vince said against his chest.

"You're a wonderful, beautiful person. You're sweet and kind and clever and I love you to distraction," Howard said, barely even noticing the word dropping off his lips.

The word that more than one person had left him because he couldn't say it to them. But he could say it to Vince, and mean it, after an acquaintance of less than twenty four hours.

Vince started to giggle nervously.

"Hey are you laughing at me," Howard poked him in the stomach and tickled his ribs, "I'm telling you I love you and you're laughing at me. How dare you, sir!"

Vince squirmed delightedly under his hands.

"You just caught me by surprise," he laughed and rolled around.

"You've wounded me, Vince," Howard said with a dramatic sniff.

Vince kissed the end of his nose.

"I love you, you spanner," he said and cuddled up him.

Howard stroked his hair and kissed the top of his head.

"Is it weird that we've just met and we're saying all this?" he asked.

Vince turned and looked at him.

"It doesn't feel like I've just met you," he said, "I've never loved anyone before, but I know that I love you. Weird eh?"

"But good weird," Howard said.

"Good weird," Vince agreed.

They kissed slowly and lay back on the sofa. Their chests were pressed close and Howard's leg was resting between Vince's thighs. He cupped Vince's face gently and looked down at him.

"I don't know what I'm doing," he said.

"Don't think," Vince whispered and pulled him back down and mashed their lips together.

Howard held him as tight as he could and never wanted to let go.

*

Sleep wouldn't find him as he lay in Howard's bed. Maybe he should have left the Sandman a forwarding address before running off....

He lifted Howard's arm carefully from around his waist where it was resting heavily and slipped out of the bed. Howard mumbled something and he froze at the side of the bed, but he made no other sound. Vince quietly crept out of the room, picking up the discarded white shirt he'd been wearing earlier and shrugging it on.

The apartment really wasn't what he was used to at all. He hadn't stayed in anything less that a five star hotel room, if he had to leave his house at all, for years. Not that that was important to him or anything, it was all agents and manager types that looked after that sort of thing. He rarely paid any attention to where he was staying, except to decorate it with felt tip markers when he was bored.

This place was small and drafty and the wallpaper had seen better days. Not much better though. Vince shivered and pulled the shirt closer around his tiny frame. He wandered around aimlessly, picking things up and putting them down in random places, when he found himself in the kitchen.

There was a small Everest of dishes in the sink, with several centuries worth of muck encrusted on them. Without thinking, Vince walked over and turned the hot tap. After a few shuddering groans, greyish water started flowing into the sink. He let it heat up before filling the sink and going to scout for washing up liquid. He settled into a rhythm of working and zoned out for a while.

He felt a tingle at the back of his neck and knew that Howard was standing behind him. He looked over his shoulder and smiled when he saw that he'd been right. He could look at that man for the rest of his life. When he spoke, his voice was low and husky, what the papers had called his "sexy rough voice." A mixture of exhaustion and hoarseness (all that moaning and screaming earlier on...).

"You didn't have to," said Howard, leaning in close and brushing some fluffy suds out of his hair.

"No, but I wanted to," Vince said with a shrug.

He'd never wanted to do anything for anyone that wasn't himself in so long. The toadying yes men around him made his skin crawl and the screaming members of the public that hurled themselves at him frankly scared him.

Howard called him a domestic type. He'd been called many things by many people, some of them more deserved than others, but no one had ever called him anything like domestic. He liked it. He was very anal about things being tidy, unusual for someone with such a strong sense of chaos in almost all other aspects of his life. But, what he liked more than that, was someone actually forming opinions on him based on things that he did, rather than thinking they knew him. And Howard already did know him better than anyone else did at this stage. He hadn't been himself for such an extended period of time since before he was famous. When he was some gawky kid with a face that had too many angles and big hair.

Howard dried his hands gently and asked him if he wanted to watch the TV. The way said it sounded like he was proposing marriage.

"That'd be nice."


	5. Chapter 5

They were woken by a hammering on the door. Vince started in Howard's arms and looked nervously at the door.

"No one knows you're here," Howard reminded him softly, though he had no idea who would be knocking for him like that.

Howard slid out from underneath the younger man, found a robe draped across the back of the sofa and shrugged it on. He went to the door and performed the New York ritual of first peeking through at them, before unlocking the many locks and opening the door a few inches with the safety chain firmly in place.

Outside, a man in a sharp suit stood looking disdainfully at the shabby corridor and tapping his foot.

"Where is he?" the stranger asked irritably.

"I'm sorry, but it's just me here, sir," Howard replied and went to close the door again.

The man put his foot in the gap and peered into the apartment as best he could.

"Vince Noir, he's in here somewhere. Five hundred photographers got a picture of the taxi he got into. Didn't take all that much persuasion to convince the driver to tell me where he took him," he said in a smug voice.

"I don't know wha-" Howard started but Vince sighed and went over to the door.

"What are you, an agent or a fucking stalker? How did you even know which apartment I was in?" he said, pushing a hand through his hair.

"Vince, you're coming with me," the stranger said, ignoring both questions.

"Get stuffed," Vince flipped him the bird through the gap.

"You're under contract for another five years," the man said threateningly, "they'll sue you if you don't come back, you'll lose everything and so will I."

Vince looked at Howard who was standing quietly beside him.

"I can't go," he said firmly.

"Is this freak keeping you hostage or something?" the agent asked.

"Hey!" Howard protested.

"You can't make me go," Vince crossed his arms, "I'll cut me hair and get a job in Rumbelowes before I go back."

"You have until this evening," the agent said firmly and left.

Vince closed the door softly and leaned against it.

"Vince," he jumped as Howard put his hand on his shoulder, "You can't throw your life away for me. You have to go back."

"You want me to go?" Vince asked with a slight wobble in his voice.

"Of course not," Howard wrapped his arms around him and pulled him into his chest, "but I can't let you lose everything just to be with me. I can barely support myself, how could I take you away from your career? I have nothing to offer you, we'd end up bitter and miserable."

"But I love you," Vince said quietly, "and you love me, right? I don't need anything else, please!"

"It's better this way," Howard said, fighting to keep the shake out of his own voice, "Here's looking at you, kid."

"Don't you Casablanca me!" Vince said stubbornly, "And Paris isn't all it's cracked up to be either, so you needed say we'll have that."

"I'd never forgive myself," Howard said with a tone of finality.

Vince screwed up his face and threw himself at Howard, kissing him hard on the lips and pushing him backwards. Howard tightened his grip around him and allowed himself to be pushed down onto the floor. Tears dripped onto his face and he wasn't sure whose they were. They pushed their bodies as close together as they could. Vince wrenched Howard's robe open and aggressively bit down on his shoulder. Howard carded his fingers through his soft hair and dropped kisses onto his forehead.

Vince's hand reached down and grabbed Howard's flaccid penis. He gasped into Vince mouth, at the cold hand gripping delicate parts of his anatomy. Vince squeezed and he hardened quickly in his hand.

"I'm yours, Howard," he whispered frantically. "Just yours, forever."

"I know, Vince, I know," Howard whispered back and kissed every part of him he could reach.

His groping hands found Vince's cock and pulled it lightly, making him buck into his fist. He manoeuvred a thigh between Vince's legs and pushed against him. Vince's hand released his cock and gripped his shoulder. They rubbed against each other furiously, panting in each other's ears and kissing with frightening intensity. They came moments apart and lay together, clutching each other tightly.

"I don't want to leave you," Vince said, clinging to him.

"I don't want you to go," Howard replied, holding him closer.

"No matter where I am, I'll always love you," Vince said, burrowing his face into Howard's neck, "It's just five years until my contract's up, I won't renew it. Will you wait for me?"

"Vince, I waited my whole life for you," Howard confessed.

They lay in each other's arms for two minutes in silence before Howard shifted awkwardly underneath him.

"My arm's gone dead," he said and Vince laughed at him.

Vince showered in the tiny bathroom, while Howard laid out the ridiculous feathery concoction that he'd escaped in carefully.. He stroked the cape fondly and his fingers caught on a small inside pocket, almost invisible if you didn't know it was there. On a whim, he copied out a poem from his failing book and folded it neatly, before slipping it into the pocket. Vince might not ever find it, or wear this item of clothing again, but a sentimental part of him wanted him to have something of him. The larger cynical part of him was disgusted with himself.

He heard soft foot steps behind him and turned to see Vince, wet and clean, stepping into the room.

"Better get the show on the road," he said sadly and walked toward Howard, giving him a brief peck.

"Yeah, I suppose we better had," Howard sighed.

Howard rode in the cab with him to the hotel that he'd been staying in before his bid for freedom.

"Back where we started," Vince sighed, "If I find out you've been fooling around with other runaway runway models, I'll have you."

Howard chuckled and put an arm around him. The cab pulled up outside the hotel and Vince looked out the window dejectedly before turning back to Howard.

"You won't forget me?" he said with genuine worry in his voice.

"You're pretty memorable," Howard smiled wryly.

Vince smiled back and kissed him firmly on the mouth, before leaving the cab. Howard sighed to himself and watched him walk away.


	6. Chapter 6

Howard went back into his apartment and went straight out the fire escape and up to the roof. He pictured Vince dancing into his arms and sighing as he held him close. He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall. Five years. Not all that long in the scheme of things and he'd gone the best part of four decades not even knowing Vince had existed.

Or course it had been easier when he didn't know what he was missing. He went back down and went straight to bed, burying his face in the pillows that still smelt a little of the perfume Vince had worn.

*

Time passed, three months to be exact. Howard Moon went about his life in much the same way as he had before he'd met international sex symbol Vince Noir. He got up, tried to write, got angry when he couldn't, ate and slept in a dreary cycle of repetition.

He woke to the sound of his phone ringing obnoxiously loudly. He staggered out of bed and looked for it groggily, before finding it underneath a pair of old pants.

"Hello," he grumbled into the receiver.

"Is this Mr. H. Moon?" a voice with an educated West Coast accent asked him.

"This is Howard Moon, who may I ask is speaking, sir?" Howard said rubbing his eyes.

"This is Edward Johnson calling on behalf of the Stanford University Department of English. We were hoping that you'd be available to come to a poetry reading later this month, if that suited you?"

Howard held the phone at arm's length and frowned at it.

"Mr. Moon?"

"Yes, I'm here," he said hurriedly, "I'm not sure I can afford to-"

"The University would cover your travel and accommodation costs," he was reassured.

"Look, this isn't a piss take, is it?" Howard asked carefully.

"I'm sorry?"

"Nothing. When do you want me to come?"

*

Howard stepped out of the airport, squinting into the bright Californian sunlight. While it was unpaid, this was the first break his so-called career had gotten in a long time. He might even sell a few books after the reading to other poets and graduate students. Things were looking up.

Why did he feel like his stomach was weighed down with industrial grade gravel, then? Part of it was probably nerves, he got them every time he had to speak in public, but part of it was the ever present sense of loneliness he'd been unable to shake since he'd watched Vince walking out of sight several months ago.

*

When Vince got into the hotel he brushed past the entourage and locked himself in the ensuite. He wasn't crying or anything, just being alone for a little while. They were used to his diva fits and didn't bother him. He sat down on the toilet seat and pulled his cape around himself life a blanket.

There was a slight rustle in the lining. He reached in and found a neatly folded piece of paper in an inside pocket. Holding it carefully between his thumbs and forefingers, he wondered what it was. It might be a note from someone, or a doodle that he'd forgotten about. Or... it might be from Howard. Trying hard not to get his hopes up, he unfolded it.

It was written a neat, round hand that Vince didn't recognise. Within a few lines it became obvious that it was a poem. He couldn't be sure, but he knew that it was Howard's. Had he said he was a writer? Vince couldn't remember. It was strange that he was so in love with someone he knew so little about, relatively.

It was good, insofar as he could tell without knowing much about poetry. Ode to a Phantom Lover. It was about being lonely and being half a person. Waiting for the other half of your soul. 'I lie in wait for my love, I'll know you by your footsteps and the shape of your shadow.'

He hugged the creased paper to his chest and rested his forehead against his knees.

*

Several months later, he was on the road again. There was some kind of charity fashion show in San Jose; there would be lots of Silicone Valley CEO types and their silicone spouses would be there to gawk at him. Not that it really mattered where he was most of the time, one hotel room was much like another.

There was a discarded newspaper in the lobby that somebody had left on a seat. Vince picked it up out of boredom, even though it was a Stanford paper that someone had most likely picked when they were passing through there. He flicked it open idly and his eye caught a small article, next to a bigger story, about a poetry reading in the university. There was a list of names that didn't seem to have any big players, but then Vince noticed one that made him stop abruptly. _'H. Moon, originally from Yorkshire, England. This up and coming Leeds-born poet shows-'_

Yorkshire. Leeds. Poet. H. Moon. What was Howard's surname? Vince had never thought he'd regret leaping into bed with Howard before, but now he wished that he'd spent their time together learning this shit.

It might be him. It probably wasn't, it would be stupid to go down to Stanford on the off chance. 

But... it might be him.


	7. Chapter 7

In the end there was only really one decision he could have made. Vince sought out his tour manager and announced that he was taking a car for the day to drive to Stanford. The overworked administrator barely looked up from his laptop and nodded absently, giving him the instruction to take a bodyguard and that he needn't be trying to run off again.

After the drive he felt warm and uncomfortably sticky. He left the driver to park the car and went with the bodyguard into the large university campus. He checked the newspaper article again and stopped a girl wheeling a bicycle for directions.

"Oh my god, you're Vince Noir," she said, looking up when he tapped her politely.

"Yeah, right. Listen, you can't tell me where to find this place?" he pointed at the article and the girl stopped fishing in her bag for her phone and studied it intently.

Three photos, an autograph and a hello on the phone to her best friend later, he was on his way again. Eventually, he found himself in vaguely the right place when he started to see posters up for the reading. Fewer people recognised him here when he asked for further directions.

He slipped into a lecture hall after glancing at a schedule on the door. He was still in time to see H. Moon, whoever he turned out to be. He lurked in the back while a tall dark woman read out poetry about frogs and physics. It was mostly over his head, but it sounded nice.

As more poets came and went, Vince began to get nervous. What if he'd been wrong? The chances that it had been his poet from Leeds whose first initial was H. was looking slimmer as time went by. He felt his palms sweating and he shifted nervously in his seat. He closed his eyes and felt his heart beating in time to the footsteps of the next poet.

"H-hello, I'm Howard Moon and I'll be reading Ode to a Phantom Lover."

Vince's eyes shot open and he saw Howard standing at the top of the hall, holding a few sheets of paper awkwardly. He began to read slowly. His body language was closed off and tense and he was looking down nervously. But his voice, Vince could listen to that voice for days. When he reached the end of his poem, Howard looked up shyly and saw Vince sitting at the back. His eyes went wide and he dropped his carefully typed sheets of paper and started to walk off the stage and into the seated crowd. Vince stood up and ran to meet him halfway.

"What're you doing here?" Howard asked.

"Just passing through," Vince shrugged, "though I was expecting a kiss, to be honest."

Howard smiled and kissed him on the cheek. Vince was having none of it and threw his arms around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth enthusiastically. They broke apart to the sound of a smattering of applause.

"That better have been for the poem," Vince said and the gathered academics chuckled gently.

"You're very good, you know," he said quietly to Howard. "Was that about me?"  
"I wrote it a year and a half before I met you," he said, "But it was still about you."

Vince kissed him again.

"Let me take you away," he whispered against his lips.

"I have to sell books," Howard said reluctantly.

"Afterwards?" Vince asked hopefully.

"Alright, I haven't got much on," Howard replied.

*

Howard looked up from the toilet bowl blearily. That was it, he thought. Oh, oh no it wasn't, he quickly realised as he tried to stand up and heaved, narrowly missing his shoes. He'd always had stage fright. Even reading out one line in the school nativity play when he was a kid had almost crippled him with nerves for hours before the play. He'd managed to pull himself together when there was talk of sending someone else on to read his one sentence and him being a sheep instead. In this particular instance, Howard thought that he wouldn't mind being a sheep.

The hassled looking woman who was organising the event was knocking on the door and telling his that he was on after the next poet. Oh god....

He walked out onto the stage clutching his notes tightly. He tried to forget about the people he was reading to and kept his eyes glued to his notes throughout. This was probably not the best tack, but if he looked up, he would be sick again. Writing poetry was piddle compared to reading it out to a crowd of strangers for critical appraisal. At least his voice was clear and he didn't trip over his words.

When the end eventually came, he peeked up nervously at the audience. For a second he thought he was hallucinating. Vince was sitting at the back, fidgeting in his seat with his lips parted slightly. In a daze he let his notes drop to the ground and walk off the stage slowly but purposefully. Vince stood up suddenly and ran towards him. Howard walked faster until the younger man was crashing into his arms, warm and real and there. He started to lean in closer, but Howard stopped him by abruptly asking him why he was there, while his mind screamed at him that it didn't bloody matter.

"Just passing through," Vince said, "though I was expecting a kiss, to be honest."

Howard felt his cheeks flush and once more tried to forget about the people around him as he pressed his lips to the model's perfect (if slightly clammy and unshaven) cheek. He could feel Vince scowl as he twisted around to capture his lips. The assembled poets and students clapped warmly and he felt even more embarrassed. But happy, so happy. Vince told them off cheekily, to their delight, before turning to look him in the eyes and rest his forehead against Howard's and whisper to him softly.

"You're very good, you know," he said, "Was that about me?"

Howard looked into those clear blue eyes and realised that it was, it always had been.

He sold all of the books that he had brought with him and had received many requests for more. He was not naive enough to think that this was a reflection of how well he had read or even how much they liked his work. The fact that more than a few copies of the book had been pushed underneath Vince's nose to sign was a clear indicator of the real reason he was suddenly so popular.

Vince seemed to be upset by it, but he couldn't bring himself to care much either way. Money was money and he really didn't care what anyone thought of him at the moment. Well, anybody bar one.

He looked over Vince's shoulder to see him writing:

'Dear Pam,  
I'd best not see this on eBay. Read my boyfriend's poetry and ignore this poncey inscription.  
Love and kisses,  
Howard's fella  
(Vince Noir)'

"You're lovely," he murmured into Vince's ear and kissed his neck, causing the young woman waiting for her book to turn an interesting shade of pink and smile dreamily.

"They should be here for you and I made it all about me," Vince frowned, "I'm a total arse."

Howard nuzzled his neck gently and made soothing noises into his skin. The girl was now positively puce.

"Are you my fella, then?" he asked teasingly, "Because, honestly, I don't think I'll last another five years without you."

"Neither would I," Vince said, "Come with me?" He looked so nervous and uncertain.

"I don't want to freeload on you or hold you back," Howard said softly  
.  
"Please? I can't not have you around. Not now that I know what being with you is like," Vince said with his bottom lip between his teeth.

"If you want me, I'm yours," Howard said simply.

The girl wandered away some time latter looking slightly dazed and clutching the book to her chest tightly.


End file.
